


Silver Centered Cent

by EmergencyBroadcastSystem



Series: but I wore his jacket for the longest time. [5]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gentle Sex, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, bonus fic :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmergencyBroadcastSystem/pseuds/EmergencyBroadcastSystem
Summary: “I want whatever you want,” Kavinsky had drawled.“If you aren’t going to take this seriously,” Adam had said, “We can’t do anything about it.”
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Adam Parrish
Series: but I wore his jacket for the longest time. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646647
Comments: 16
Kudos: 82





	Silver Centered Cent

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for sticking with it through this literally novel-length (🙈) story and thank you for all your kind words. Here is a little pwp bonus :) 
> 
> All characters in this are 18+, (also please do not read unless you are 18+)

> “There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable.”

— C.S. Lewis, _The Four Loves_

* * *

Sex with Kavinsky was strange.

Kavinsky was a sexual person. He would corner Adam at events and whisper nasty things in his ears. When Adam talked about his schoolwork, Kavinsky would offer to suck him off in return for a good grade (and would often make good on that promise). He was the only person Adam let manhandle him, because he knew Kavinsky was touching him just because he liked to touch him. Kavinsky was a naturally tactile and playful person, be it hugs or kisses or groping in the dark.

But Kavinsky would not be touched. The closest Kavinsky came to punching him was when Adam slipped his hands, unexpectedly, down Kavinsky’s pants and Kavinsky’s eyes went hard and black and frightened. Adam had disentangled and stepped back quickly. That evening Kavinsky had remained offbeat and churlish for hours afterwards.

Adam wouldn’t have minded. If that was all Kavinsky offered, if there was never any progress and he didn’t change—Adam wouldn’t mind. Kavinsky was a strange and complicated man, and Adam knew there were some things about him that were impossible to adjust.

But it didn’t seem that way.

When Adam came, he often saw a flicker of something in Kavinsky’s eyes. The man was hard to read at the best of times, but it seemed like… longing. And there was something so impersonal about Kavinsky giving him a blowjob and then masturbating, alone, into a waste basket.

Adam asked him once, after they had moved Adam’s things into the university dorm, if Kavinsky ever wanted Adam to get him off.

“I want whatever you want,” Kavinsky had drawled.

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously,” Adam had said, “We can’t do anything about it.”

They had gone out to eat. Kavinsky was paying, but they still ended up eating cheap pizza in napkins and drinking soda. They slept in the university dorm and in the morning Kavinsky left for Henrietta.

The next time Adam brought it up, Kavinsky was in Cambridge for the long weekend. He was spread out on Adam’s bed like he owned it, his feet propped up on Adam’s bedside table. He drank cheap German beer he had somehow procured.

This time, his answer was different: “I don’t know if we can.”

“What do you mean?” Adam asked.

“I would have,” Kavinsky fished around for the words, “There are things… you couldn’t do.”

“Okay,” Adam said.

Kavinsky rolled over and drew his legs up so he could lean closer to Adam. His eyebrows were furrowed, “I mean it.”

“I know,” Adam said, “We wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want.”

Kavinsky drank his beer, expression troubled. He rubbed his fingers together and said nothing.

“You would have to trust me,” Adam said, “But I wouldn’t do anything you took off the table. I promise. I just want to return the favour.”

“I know,” Kavinsky said.

Adam watched him for a beat, before returning to his reading. Kavinsky shuffled a little on the bed, before he lay down properly.

“You can tell me,” Adam said, without looking at him.

“You couldn’t bite me, even lightly,” Kavinsky said, “Or pinch and claw me.”

Adam hadn’t considered doing any of that, but he kept the surprise out of his voice: “Alright.”

“No candles, knives, needles or gags,” Kavinsky listed off.

“We can be as vanilla as you want,” Adam said.

“You can’t surprise me,” Kavinsky said, “You’d have to tell me before you did anything. I would want to know.”

“I can do that.”

Kavinsky set his jaw tightly.

There was something else Kavinsky wanted to say, Adam could see it pressing against his throat. It was difficult for him, Adam knew. Defensiveness was woven through Kavinsky’s whole being. It was an instinct so strong that Kavinsky used to force himself to walk normally even when his knee was flaring up, because a limp would tell an opponent where to strike to knock him down. Listing all of this out for Adam was like making a guide for him—if you wanted to destroy me, this was how you did it.

“No…” Kavinsky swallowed and looked at the ground, “You couldn’t, uh…” He said nothing for a moment.

“Yes?” Adam prompted.

“No profanities,” Kavinsky said, cheeks flushed, “You couldn’t call me names.”

It was funny and a little bit sad, to hear that from Kavinsky. Adam swallowed and allowed neither of those feelings to reach his face. He met Kavinsky’s eyes and tried to convey how much he cared, and how seriously he was taking it.

“I won’t do that.”

*

In the summer, Adam returned to Henrietta, and to the little flat above St. Agnes’. Kavinsky hadn’t changed much since he’d left—there had been a coffee machine installed, and a dishwasher. Kavinsky still used the second hand mop Adam had bought them, and the cleaning materials in the cupboards were all from the dollar tree.

Kavinsky made moussaka with purple potatoes. It was surprisingly spicy and warm. “What do you think?” Kavinsky asked him, “Would I have made a good Bulgarian housewife?”

“You mean, if you weren’t already one?” Adam scraped the last bits from his plate.

Kavinsky laughed.

After dinner, Adam turned off their phones and shut off almost all of the lights. He turned on a few of the lamps dotted around the bedroom. It was a low, saturated orange light, surprisingly cosy.

“Let me massage you,” Adam muttered into Kavinsky’s ear. Kavinsky groaned his assent. He stretched out, naked, on the bed, his face pressed into the pillows. “If you want me to stop, just say so. I’ll stop immediately.”

Adam sat on his long hips; sleeves rolled up. He had massaged Kavinsky before, only once, when his back had been sprained. He poured massage oil onto his hands and rubbed them together, trying to warm up his hands, before he put them on Kavinsky.

Kavinsky’s back was slightly odd looking. His surgical scars started a hand’s breadth from his tailbone and were ruler straight. A few faint raised scars like claw marked were healed white under Kavinsky’s shoulder blade. Brown moles peppered his spine.

Scar tissue felt like streaks of sandpaper under Adam’s hands. He massaged Kavinsky’s flesh firmly, dragging his palms over the tight muscles. Adam worked over the shoulders first with the tips of his fingers until his shoulders finally relaxed. He was very careful not to even brush Kavinsky’s neck.

Massage oil gave Kavinsky’s back a browned sheen. Adam worked his hands into his tense spine. Kavinsky was utterly boneless, like warm putty in Adam’s hands. Adam worked over his ribs, pushing his fingers into the notches of his bones, skin flushed under him. When he pressed his knuckles into Kavinsky’s tail bone, he groaned.

Adam brushed Kavinsky’s ear with his mouth, “Don’t fall asleep.”

Kavinsky huffed and opened his eyes blearily. His face was still pressed into the pillow.

“I’m going to put the ring on you,” Adam said, “Is that alright?”

“You don’ have to ask me ev’y time,” Kavinsky’s voice was husky and thick with sleep, “Just tell me.”

Adam slipped his hand under Kavinsky and skimmed his stomach. Kavinsky’s skin was hot and he was already half hard when Adam fit the cock ring to him. Kavinsky breathed in sharply.

“I’m going to eat you out,” Adam murmured and kissed the shell of Kavinsky’s ear, “Lift your hips, baby.”

Kavinsky shuddered and lifted his hips. Adam slid a few pillows under his hips so he could relax again, with his tail end lifted. Adam massaged his thighs. Kavinsky tensed and finally relaxed under his ministrations. Adam poured lubricant into his cupped palm and spread it between his cheeks.

Adam tasted soap under the lube, and the salt of Kavinsky’s skin. He was freshly shaved and the skin was pale pink and stubbly. Adam licked broad, flat swipes across his hole and sealed his mouth to it. His tongue breached the tight ring of muscles and slipped inside. Kavinsky’s hips shifted restlessly. Adam lapped at him.

“Fingers now,” Adam mumbled, pulling his fingers out of the lube bottle. Kavinsky twitched as Adam breached him. It took him a moment for him to find the prostate and he pressed it gently. Kavinsky rewarded him with a shiver and a soft sigh.

His body was so warm. It prickled Adam’s skin, as if static electricity ran through it. Kavinsky was spread out before him, relaxed and heated, his eyes closed as Adam worked him over. His body was laid out for him, dark hair curled with sweat, lashes flickering.

“God,” Adam breathed to himself, “You are so beautiful.”

A loud groan escaped Kavinsky and he slapped a hand over his mouth, cheeks flushed. Adam’s eyes widened and then he leaned forward. Kavinsky flopped over and they lay close, chest to chest, Adam’s hand between Kavinsky’s legs, massaging inside him.

“You are so gorgeous,” Adam murmured into Kavinsky’s chest, “I’ve wanted to have you for so long.”

Kavinsky let out a high, salacious noise, muffled by his hands pressed over his mouth. His cheeks were red and his whole body was feverishly hot. Between his legs, his cock was full and straining, and Adam milked his prostate mercilessly. Kavinsky’s legs twitched as they tried to spread even farther open.

“You have been so, so good,” Adam purred into Kavinsky’s ear, “You deserve every good thing. I love you so much, Kavinsky.”

Tears rolled down Kavinsky’s cheeks. His hands were still clamped over his mouth and he groaned, eyes closing.

“Talk to me, beautiful,” Adam brushed damp hair from Kavinsky’s forehead with his free hand, “I want to hear you.”

“Fuck me,” Kavinsky croaked between his fingers, “Please.”

Adam slipped the ring from Kavinsky’s cock and pushed his fingers into him. He was already stretched, but Adam wanted to make sure it was enough. Lube made his fingers slippery and clumsy. Kavinsky’s eyes flickered open and his gaze was liquid heat.

Adam fucked into him and Kavinsky moaned, breathlessly. Adam brace his hand against the headboard and fucked him in rhythmic, rolling thrusts. Kavinsky looked like his eyes were about to roll back in his head. It only took three thrusts and Kavinsky orgasmed, shuddering.

Adam continued to thrust inside him as Kavinsky came in long spurts, body quaking around him. When Adam pulled out, Kavinsky collapsed onto the sticky sheets, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Adam jerked off quickly, it was not difficult with the sight laid out before him. Massage oil, lube and come made Kavinsky’s pale thighs sticky and wet.

“Are you alright?” Adam panted, dropping to rest on his elbows.

Kavinsky gasped, chest stuttering. His arms flopped down beside him and he gave Adam a dazed, wet-eyed look, “Uh…”

“That good, huh?” Adam grinned.

Kavinsky smirked, tiredly, “We’ve found a use for you.”

“Asshole,” Adam said, fondly, and surged up to kiss him. He expected Kavinsky to push his nose away due to the ass-breath, but Kavinsky didn’t seem to mind. He pulled Adam closer. Maybe in a while, the stickiness drying on their skin would be too gross to ignore, but for now they were sated and warm enough to lie together.

Adam settled, his chin on Kavinsky’s chest, “Why did you cry?”

Kavinsky’s eyes were half-lidded. He looked sleepy, his cheeks unusually pink and heated, his eyelashes stuck together. He had put on weight while Adam had been away and the severity of his cheekbones had lessened a little, his chest was less cavernous. There were no new wounds on him at all. His knuckles were completely healed.

“I don’t know,” Kavinsky said, quietly, “It’s just…”

Adam waited. He breathed in the hanging smell of sweat and sex which filled the air.

Kavinsky carded a hand through Adam’s hair and rested his hand at the back of Adam’s neck, “You’re really one of a kind, you know?”

Adam smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, “You’re really a big softie under all that, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Kavinsky groaned unhappily, “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“I promise I won’t tell,” Adam said, “I kind of like it. Who would have thought we’d end up here, you know?”

Kavinsky relaxed with a huff and watching the ceiling. He pulled the pillow out from under the base of his spine, “I don’t think anyone did.”

Adam watched him, his chest gently rising and falling. Adam was always surprised at just how well him and Kavinsky seemed to mesh—he had been away for months and when he returned, it was like coming home. Kavinsky still understood him on an instinctive level, as if he was reading Adam’s mind.

“We should probably clean up,” Adam muttered tiredly.

Kavinsky grunted his agreement.

Adam shifted and rested his head on Kavinsky’s shoulder. There was such a warmth around them, such a sense of comfort and rest. His body was drawn out and relaxed. In moments, he was asleep.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

> “I have forgiven the world for the love of you;”

― Alexandre Dumas, _The Count of Monte Cristo_

_end_.


End file.
